


Storm

by orphan_account



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feelings and emotions have always been hard for Meghan... Now, though, she feels like things are finally falling into place.</p><p>Barkling AU one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> So this is my first piece that I've written for this wonderful lovely site. I actually wrote it after my first day of school, so it's been floating around in my documents for a while and I just got brave enough to post it. It's a one-shot right now, but I might keep adding to it if I get some positive feedback/people show interest in it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> \- ijustwannabwu

It’s third period.

It’s third period and there's a storm in your body and your stomach is churning. You feel sick. You practically count the seconds that pass, just waiting for the bell to ring and for fourth period to start. Nothing the teacher says stays in your brain. _One, two, three…_ Miss Lincoln ( _Is that what she said her name was?_ ) hands you a bright orange piece of paper while she explains the instructions. You really should be paying attention, but you can’t. _Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one…_

“Who wants to go first?” she asks.

You panic, and cross your fingers under the desk and hope she doesn’t call on you. Instead, the new girl volunteers. She walks bravely to the front of the classroom. She doesn’t look nervous or lightheaded like you are starting to feel. She reads what she’s written on the paper. You look down at your blank sheet and start filling it out. Hopefully you won’t have to read your paper today.

One by one your other classmates sacrifice themselves to the front of the classroom, reading their introductory speeches. You already know that you aren’t going to like this class - it was only the first day of school and Miss Lincoln already has you reading speeches. _Fifty-nine, sixty, one, two…_ You had resumed your counting.

Miss Lincoln stands up and addresses the class. “Since the bell’s just about to ring, we’re going to have to finish the rest of these speeches tomorrow.”

 _Thank the lord_. You shoulder your backpack and gather near the door with the rest of your classmates. Finally, _finally_ , you get to see her.

You practically run down the hallway. You hadn’t seen her yet and you so desperately wanted to. You had dressed up; you wore your new denim shorts and top and fixed your hair. You weren’t sure if you were dressed up for her, or if you were dressed up for the guys. You figured that if things didn’t end up working out, you would have to look good to somebody. You kick yourself inwardly at this thought. _I’m so… I’m so shallow_. You hate this side of yourself, and you know that there’s something else hidden under that first layer that is so _feminine_. You decide that tomorrow, you aren’t dressing up for anybody. You want to feel comfortable in your skin.

You walk down the hallway, try not to fall down the stairs, down another hallway, through the lunchroom, hallway, hallway… You reach the other side of the school three minutes before the bell rings. Everyone is milling around the door to the choir room. You put your backpack down in the hallway, run a finger through your hair, and walk in.

The room is very crowded and you are short, so you have to stand on your tiptoes to look around. Upperclassmen are everywhere. You recognize a few and get some high fives. You try not to smile too wide, try not to look to excited to gain their acceptance. There is a chair near you, and you step onto it so you can see over the heads of all the people.

There she is.

 _There she is_.

Her blue-brown-green-everycolor eyes meet yours and you can’t help but smile at her when she grins toothily at you. She looks… She looks like she’s causing your heart physical pain. She looks in a way that you can’t describe. She looks, unlike you, like herself.

She wears long black skinny jeans that bunch up a little around her ankles. Her top is a black-and-white-patterned short-sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled twice so that they hit the middle of her bicep, and the buttons are done up almost as high as they go. Her hair is shaved short on the sides and on the back, but the top is long enough that she can let it flop over to one side. She really is beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful that a boy has called you before, not the kind of beautiful that guys say to their girlfriends, or that brothers say to their sisters. But she is still beautiful in a way that makes you calm down, that makes the storm in your head and stomach subside.

Her face is clear of all makeup, her skin seriously flawless and with a dusting of freckles that covers nearly all of it. Her features are delicate, her lips thin and pink and her nose small and round. You can just barely see the holes in her ears where she got them pierced, but there aren’t any earrings there. You try to think back to when she wore them last… Seventh grade. Before she cut her hair this way.

She is standing with your other friends and as you make your way over, she steps away from the group. Everyone around you is hugging friends that they haven’t seen since summer started and catching up. As you get closer to each other, she stretches out her arms. “You look cute,” she says.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling. “I really like your shirt.” There is a list of things that you want to say, but don’t: _You look cute, too._

_You look amazing._

_I missed you._

_Please tell me how your mind works._

_Please open up to me._

_Please let me break your walls down._

You stand on your tiptoes as you hug her since you are short and she is an average height, your right arm over her left and your left arm under her right. “This is one of the most awkward ways to hug,” you say into her shoulder, laughing slightly. You still aren’t quite tall enough. _You smell nice_ , you think as you breath in; you don’t dare say it out loud.

She laughs short and breathily, showing her teeth as you pull away. “Oh yeah, for sure. Next time, the shorter person puts their arms underneath,” she says smiling at you.

You laugh.

She laughs.

The pain in your head and stomach is gone and you feel easy and free.

_So this is what it should feel like._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Again, if you want more of this, please let me know! I'd love to read your suggestions and critiques, so don't forget to comment! Thanks again for reading! :)


End file.
